


false designs

by afewreelthoughts



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Rhaegar Won, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:54:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23158870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afewreelthoughts/pseuds/afewreelthoughts
Summary: Prince Jon Targaryen knows what this is about. He knows the disinherited Baratheons only want back their ancestral castle... but it's still fun.
Relationships: Renly Baratheon/Jon Snow
Comments: 9
Kudos: 73
Collections: ASOIAF Rarepair Week





	false designs

**Author's Note:**

> Rare Pair Week 2020: March 15 - Day 1 thaw | false spring
> 
> I own nothing and make no money from this. Everything belongs to George R.R. Martin.

Jon gasps for air and fists his hands in the bedsheets and tells himself this can't end well. The person in his bed would not be there if Jon weren't a prince, and he would not be there if Jon didn't have something he wanted. 

And then the lips around him tighten and Jon's legs are shaking and he can't think. He hears himself crying out as he peaks. 

He is distantly aware of the sheets moving around him as his bedmate stretches out next to him and covers them both with the thin linens. Jon floats in bliss for a few long moments afterward before pulling himself back down to earth. Renly Baratheon wants something, and Jon knows it's not him. 

When Jon looks over at Renly, settled on the pillow next to him, his long hair fanning out around him, he has a satisfied smirk on his face. 

"Oh, fuck you..." Jon smiles and shoves him. Still shivering a little, he rises from his bed to find his clothes. 

"I have no authority to redistribute castles," Jon says, pulling on his trousers. "Or titles, for that matter."

"If you can think about things like that, I haven't done a very good job," Renly says, sprawled across Jon's bed like it belongs to him.

"Just so you know," Jon says. 

"Why? Why do I need to know?" He grabs the sleeve of the shirt Jon has just put on and pulls him closer, fingering the embroidered silk. "You think I want a castle?" The easy mockery in his voice warms something deep inside of Jon. "Is there not enough joy to be had in bedding a prince?"

"It's always best to think about what else someone might want." Jon looks away from him. "I can't afford not to."

Renly's arms twine about Jon's waist. "You've got such a weight on your shoulders, I can't imagine it." His warm hands creep up the back of Jon's shirt, rubbing small circles on his skin, and Jon wonders what his family would think if he failed to show up to another council meeting. 

Jon pulls away. "I have to go. And so do you."

Renly sinks into the covers. "But your bed's even softer than mine."

Jon tosses his clothes at him. 

"I'll go outside when I'm decent, and I'll knock on the door when it's clear for you to come out." 

Jon straightens his clothes and brushes his hair, and when he opens the door, comes face-to-face with his sister. 

"Rhae!" He shuts the door behind him as quickly as possible. "What are you doing here?" 

"Making sure you're not so tired from wedding revelry that you miss another meeting with father," she says.

"I have been tired," he says and nods. How long have you been waiting here? he wants to ask. 

Her violet eyes scan the door, as though she can see through it. 

Renly is waiting for the knock at the door telling him it's safe to leave. He'd find his way out if it never came, though.

"One word from you, his head comes off," Rhaenys says. 

Jon's stomach churns. "Whose head?" 

Rhaenys hooks her arm through his and leads them down the hall. Jon does not look back at the door to his rooms. Renly will realize, eventually, that it's safe to leave. Won't he? 

"You're a smart man, Jon," Rhaenys is saying, "which is why father needs your counsel at times like this."

"I'm glad to be needed."

They turn a corner, and her voice drops to a whisper. "The Baratheons are here for one thing only." 

Jon's stomach flips again. He could feign innocence. She probably wouldn't press the matter further. But this is his sister Rhaenys, someone he likes to think he can trust. And she would think less of him for lying. 

"I know," Jon says, as they reach the top of the stairs. "I have it under control." 

***

His father named him Jaehaerys, but ever since his mother called him Jon on her deathbed, everyone else does, too. It could be confusing around the Hand of the King and current Lord of Storm's End Jon Connington, but they managed the small council easily enough. 

Aegon had complained every day of the past week about the "endless" council meetings. "It's Dany's wedding! We shouldn't be spending time at parties and tourneys celebrating, not listening to Connington's boring reports." 

"Father has his reasons," Jon said, though he had no idea what they were. 

They had spent weeks planning the wedding - seven days of celebration in honor of his cousin Daenerys' wedding to Willas Tyrell - and so had fallen behind in the regular business of the realm. This morning Connington was reciting the figures he'd recently heard back from Storm's End, supplies the castle had already gathered and how much more they would need for the coming winter, and Jon's mind drifted to the castle... the ancient seat of House Durrandon, then Baratheon... Jon Connington had no direct heirs, and if he had none before he died, the crown had decided a descendant of his cousin Ronnet would take Storm's End, but they were unclear on which one. Did Stannis and Renly Baratheon know that when they answered the invitation to the royal wedding? When they bowed deep before the throne on their arrival and declared themselves penitent and loyal servants of the crown? 

When the rebellion ended, all those years ago, his father, in his mercy, had spared the families of the rebels, only stripping them of lands and titles. _Because,_ Rhaegar repeated again and again over the years, _if I had killed them all, as my father's advisors wanted me to do, I would have proved them right._

It had been Jon's own idea to invite them to the wedding.

"If we invite Catelyn and Robb Stark, should we invite the Arryns, Baratheons, and Lannisters as well?" he had said in this same council room, weeks ago.

"I think it's a good idea," his father had said. "We must begin mending the wounds of the war, and twenty years is long enough." He smiled his cryptic smile. "And we'll need all the allies we can get for the winter to come." Whenever King Rhaegar spoke of winter, his voice grew heavy with importance, but he never bothered explaining why. 

The Arryns and Jon's own cousin Robb had declined the invitation, sending letters of apology and gifts. The Lannisters would arrive just in time for the ceremony. 

"It's your turn next, Jon," Aegon whispers to him. 

"My turn?" 

"First me and Rhaenys, then Viserys, now Dany..." He raises an eyebrow. "Has anyone caught your eye?"

Jon knows he should be spending these wedding celebrations finding a wife. It's no use to anyone for him to spend his time entangled with disgraced nobility. And that's his job, isn't it? To be useful?

His father is talking alone with Jon Connington now, and other conversations spring up around the table.

"I'm harder to marry off, and you know that, brother. Perhaps I'm better suited to this council room than a marriage bed." 

Part of Jon likes the idea, dedicating himself to the realm rather than to any one person. Like the Kingsguard or the Night's Watch.

"Don't say things like that!" Aegon says. "Any lady would be happy to marry you. Father will guarantee it."

Jon cringes. Father will guarantee it. 

Rumors of Jon's bastard birth have followed him all his life. Rhaegar claimed to have wed Jon's mother, Lyanna, before he was born, and a king's word is gold, isn't it? But Lyanna is dead, and no one else could ever confirm it. Much of the same discontent that led to the rebellion still simmers throughout Westeros, and it erupts in tales of the Bastard Prince, though Jon's father refuses to see it, and Aegon, though he means well, speaks as though he himself can lift the weight from Jon's shoulders. It's Jon's task to carry it, to do what is right, to prove his loyalty to his family. Every day. 

***

Jon rides hard in the tourney that day, and harder still in his rooms that night. He pulls Renly from the feast with a flicker of his eyes, and yawns and apologizes to his family for retiring early. 

_Gods, what would they think?_ The thought sends a spark of pleasure up his spine. No matter how much Renly might want to use him, or think he's succeeding at it, Jon intends to enjoy this while he still can. He knows he's in control, that he's surrendering nothing; let Renly think what he likes. 

"Jon..." Renly's voice quavers. From the effort of holding back, from some deep emotion, or from his part in a mummer's show, Jon doesn't care. 

He clings tighter to Renly's shoulders and takes his fill. 

***

The day the Baratheons arrived, Jon could not take his eyes off of them. Twins in height, in build, dark-haired and blue-eyed, all of that he'd been told. But there was nobility in them even as they knelt before the throne, defiance in the set of Stannis's shoulders, the tilt of Renly's chin. Jon wondered how much they looked like their fallen brother, and if his father could only see Robert in their eyes. 

At the feast that night, Jon walked among the low tables before the dessert was brought out, speaking with anyone who wanted his ear. It was surprising, though perhaps not that surprising, how many people were unwilling to bring their concerns to the royal family, but spoke freely after their third cup of ale. Jon made his way closer to the table where Stannis and Renly sat. 

From what he had observed that day, they used their minds, something their late brother was notorious for never doing, the wheels turning in Stannis's head loud enough to wake the dragon eggs below the castle; Renly languid in his chair, joking and flattering until you realized he had maneuvered the conversation into the palm of his hand. 

_They're dangerous,_ Jon thought. _We should never have invited them here._

One of the men's tongues loosened a bit too much.

"Shame the nice one's the bastard," he slurred. 

Stannis raised his head. "I knew it!" he said to his brother, perhaps not as quiet as he could have been. "The king never married Lady Lyanna." 

Jon's chest grew tight. He asked a passing servant to refill his wine, and turned away from the great hall, walking until he came to a window. He threw it open, tasting winter on the evening winds. He would return to the high table in time for a bite of dessert. 

They were traitors, he told himself, traitors disinherited for their crimes. They lived on a farm in the Stormlands. What did their words matter to him? 

Because he knew it wasn't just them. He knew the way his own siblings fretted over him when they thought he didn't notice. He'd heard Rhaenys say, _Northern marriages still require witnesses, does father not know that?_ and he saw the pity in Aegon's eyes. 

Jon gripped the windowsill. He never asked for an ill-fated royal birth. He loved his family, everything he did was out of loyalty to them... and yet, no matter what he did or did not do... were they all expecting him to become another Daemon? The thought made him want to leap from the window and fly away. 

Footsteps came to a halt behind him. "I wanted to thank you, Your Majesty." 

Jon turned to see Renly Baratheon standing behind him. He seemed taller than he had in the throne room. 

Renly smiled. "I heard it was your doing that brought my brother and I to King's Landing today."

"I'm glad you were able to come," Jon said. 

"I am sorry for what my brother said. He doesn't know where his thoughts end and the rest of the world begins."   
Light caught in his blue eyes. Or were they green?

"It's nothing I haven't heard before." 

"I wanted to make sure we hadn't driven you away. I couldn't forgive myself if we had."

Renly Baratheon's words were a sickly sweet apology, but there was laughter in his eyes. Another man saying those same words would be making a show of submission or obedience, or worse, have nothing but pity for Jon. 

"I take myself away from feasts often," Jon heard himself saying. "It's important for me to look sad in front of a dark window and contemplate my star-crossed birth most every night."

"For how long?" 

"Until the dragon rises in my blood and tells me to stop wasting my time." 

"I didn't know dragons had so much to say." 

"That's why they all died. The people of Westeros killed them because they wouldn't shut up." 

Renly laughed and leaned against the wall beside Jon. 

_Gods, what are you doing?_ Jon told himself. _This isn't the way to talk to any of your subjects._ But he felt at ease talking with this man, alone in this corridor. 

"Was it a long journey to come here?" Jon asked him. 

"Not terribly. I love seeing the countryside. Stannis complained the whole way here." 

"He didn't like that he received an invitation?"

"Oh no, he thinks we deserved a visit to court long ago, he just didn't like having to pack and ride, and he hates dressing in fine clothes." 

The clothes the brothers wore were far from what Jon would call "fine." Renly's brocade tunic was stiff and heavy, at least twenty years out of fashion. 

"I suppose we could have worn something else," Renly said, "but he wanted us to look our best."

Jon felt a pang of guilt. These were probably the clothes Stannis had been allowed to take from Storm's End twenty years ago, finer than any they could now afford. 

"You look... very fine," he said. 

And he did. Jon had been watching him all day, telling himself it was out of concern for the crown. 

"Did you and your brother travel alone?" Jon said, to have something to say. 

"Yes, though Davos's youngest son insisted on coming with us and cried when he couldn't."

"Davos? He's the one who took you in?" 

"Otherwise we would have had nowhere to go."

"I'm sorry for that," Jon said without thinking.

"Sorry?" Renly smiled fondly. "It was wonderful! I have seven brothers. I would have grown up so lonely otherwise."

A heavy, woolen feeling filled Jon's throat. Was he jealous? Jealous of a poor man with seven brothers he clearly loved and missed? Jon nodded and smiled.

"Did I offend you, Your Majesty?" 

"No," Jon said. He knew he wore his foul moods where everyone could see. He couldn't help it. "I'm just thinking of my family. I'm the only one of my siblings left unwed, and I doubt anyone will be eager to marry the bastard prince." 

It was true, but only a superficial truth. 

"I'd take any prince, if they offered," Renly said. 

Warmth spread through Jon's chest, and he leaned closer to Renly to lower his voice. "You realize it's dangerous to speak to me this way, don't you?"

"I mean no offense, Your Majesty."

"I'm not offended."

 _But I know what you want. And it's not me,_ Jon thought. And then... _Does it matter?_

"Thank you for finding me," Jon said. "I hope I'll more of you this week?" 

"I hope so too, Your Majesty." 

Jon walked back to the great hall, feeling warm eyes on him the whole way. 

***

"Get much sleep last night, brother?" Aegon reaches across the table to fill Jon's glass with water.

Jon breathes deeply and schools his features. "Yes, I did. Thank you for letting me leave dinner so early."

Aegon smiles indulgently. "I know what's going on, and while he won't make you a very good wife, I'm glad you've found someone to warm your bed."

"Aegon!" 

"What?"

"We're in the small council chamber; everyone else will be arriving in moments, and you're just... saying things out loud." 

Aegon sinks back into his chair, chastised. 

Jon sighs. "What did Rhaenys tell you?" 

"She didn't say anything, and she didn't need to."

They both stare at the table as the council chamber begins to fill.

Their father is last to arrive. He frowns at Jon. "What's happened here? This is a week of joyful celebration."

Jon searches for a good answer to him; that the week is ending, and it's made him sad, that he tossed and turned and couldn't sleep last night. 

"We're just talking about Jon and Renly Baratheon. He's moping cause I know about them." 

Jon's heart falls into his stomach. He looks back and forth across the table. Not a single face shows any surprise. 

Rhaegar looks at Jon with concern. "What's there to mope about? I thought you were having fun with him." 

"I..." Jon grips the edge of the table. "I didn't know anyone knew."

Rhaegar laughs, and the entire small council laughs with him. 

"Renly's brothers were both traitors, I thought you would be angry with me." 

"You can have whoever you like, Jon," Rhaegar says. 

"It's not foolish?" 

"What's foolish about it? I did worse," he says, as though the choices he'd made had been the charming acts of a man in a song. "As long as you don't go about giving away titles and favors... but kings have done that for their lovers in the past, and they weren't necessarily bad kings."

Lovers. Is that what he and Renly are? The word sounds wrong, too earnest. They've been having fun, nothing more or less.

The tension that built inside Jon all week snaps, and he feels... nothing.

 _I hope Renly is using me_ , he thinks to himself, as conversation turns once more to the business of the realm. _Because I've been using him._


End file.
